


Untitled, because I'm hopeless at thinking up titles.

by mithrel



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: Beating, Blanket Permission, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-25
Updated: 2009-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel





	Untitled, because I'm hopeless at thinking up titles.

It was two weeks after the championship, and most of the other champions had gone home. Will and his party had installed themselves in the best inn in town. Wat was sitting at a table, eating a bowl of quite excellent cream stew. William was off with Jocelyn of course, and Roland was probably off with Christiana. He didn’t know where Kate and Chaucer were.

He was just finishing up his stew when he heard a muffled grunt behind him. He turned around to see Chaucer standing in the doorway. “Christ!” Wat muttered and ran over to him. He was naked again, but that wasn’t what had caused Wat’s exclamation. He had had the shite kicked out of him and looked like hell.

“What the hell happened?” Wat demanded, as he pulled Chaucer over to sit on one of the benches.

Chaucer managed a shadow of his usual cheeky grin. “Well, I came across some gentlemen playing dice, and they offered me excellent odds…”

“You’ve been gambling again!” Wat accused him

“And I was winning, too!” Chaucer said. Seeing Wat’s disbelieving stare he continued, “No, really! I’d won twenty pounds…and then my luck turned.”

“And you just kept playing, did you?” Wat said tiredly.

Chaucer nodded. “I’m sorry, Wat, I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Honestly, Chaucer, you cost us more money. Either become a better gambler or stop gambling.”

Chaucer hung his head, and said nothing.

“And I suppose this was the work of your old friend the Pardoner?”

Chaucer nodded. “He and his friend the Summoner caught up with me. They took all the money I had, but it wasn’t enough to cover my debts, and so they took my clothes again, and decided to fong me for good measure.”

“Bastards,” Wat muttered under his breath, before he could stop himself.

Chaucer glanced at him. “What, you’re upset that someone else got to me first?”

“No!” Wat said, then caught himself. “I mean, yes! I mean…” he trailed off in confusion, then said quietly, “No one has the right to do that to a man.”

He was looking at the floor, trying to figure out why something had twisted up in his chest, so he didn’t see the surprised look that crossed Chaucer’s face. Surprised and slightly pleased.

“Well, come on, then!”

“What?”

Wat gave the writer a look of disgust. “Or do you want to stay naked, in front of God and everybody? We need to get you cleaned up.”

Chaucer stood up with difficulty and followed Wat up the stairs. He was surprised when Wat motioned him into his own room.

“Are you coming, or what?”

Chaucer followed meekly. Wat sat him down on the bed, poured some water into the basin, got a cloth, and began to clean him up.

Wat frowned, as he realized the full extent of the damage. Chaucer was working on what would probably turn out to be two truly spectacular shiners, and he had bruises all over him. There were deep gashes and lacerations on his torso, arms and legs, and he was breathing shallowly, as though it was painful.

Wat realised he was being entirely too careful cleaning him up, and started being a bit rougher, but when he prodded a bruise on Chaucer’s side, he gasped, and then whimpered. Wat stopped at once, but it was a moment or so before he was able to catch his breath. His face was ashen, and Wat suspected that at least one of his ribs was broken.

“You need a surgeon.”

Chaucer shook his head, still looking pale, “No…no…it’s fine…I’m fine…you just surprised me…”

“Do you want me to do it again?” Wat threatened.

Chaucer shook his head again, looking slightly frantic, and Wat nodded.

“Your ribs are broken, or at least bruised. You need to see a surgeon.”

Chaucer shook his head again. “If my ribs are broken, there’s nothing the surgeon can do. I’ll be fine.”

Wat growled at the man’s stubbornness, then said something Chaucer wasn’t at all expecting. “Please. Please see a surgeon. If only for my peace of mind.”

Geoff was so surprised at Wat’s tone that he agreed. Wat helped him back his room, and into the bed, worrying about leaving him alone. Fortunately, however, Roland turned up a few minutes later, and after explaining the situation, Wat sent him for a surgeon.

Geoff was trying to convince himself that the fact that Wat had not had Roland sit with him while he went for the surgeon didn’t mean anything at all, with indifferent success, when Kate and Will turned up. They had evidently asked the innkeeper, who’d told them that Wat was upstairs. They went across the hall to Wat’s room first.

“We’re in here!” Wat called to them, and they came in, looking surprised to see Chaucer in bed, and Wat sitting with him.

“What have you done to yourself, Geoff?” Will asked curiously.

“He was gambling again,” Wat replied, with a scowl, before Chaucer could answer. “Stupid git got his ribs broke for his trouble. Roland’s gone to fetch a surgeon.”

Will nodded, and left the room, there being nothing he could do. Kate lingered a moment, seemed to want to say something, sighed and left with a “Tell us what the surgeon has to say.”

Geoff and Wat sat in awkward silence for nearly ten minutes before Roland turned up with the surgeon. He bustled in and shooed Wat out of the room while he examined Geoff. Wat was standing in the hall, fretting, trying to convince himself he wasn’t upset about being kicked out of the room, and that he wasn’t worried about Chaucer, merely annoyed that he was costing them money. At the muffled yelps and whimpers from within the room, however, he stopped thinking about anything and started to chew on his lip.

After a moment the surgeon opened the door, and, as Wat was the only person in evidence, gave him his instructions. “His ribs aren’t broken, just bruised, but he still needs to rest. _Don’t_ let him get up for two weeks, minimum, and he shouldn’t do anything strenuous for at least another week after that.” Wat nodded, and noticed that Chaucer was looking mutinous. Ah, well, with eight younger siblings Wat was used to playing nursemaid to uncooperative patients. It wasn’t as if he had to do it on his own, after all.

Wat thanked the surgeon, paid him five pounds (they could afford it, after all) and the man went on his way. He turned to Chaucer, who was looking thoroughly put out.

“Right, you heard him. You’re to stay in bed for two weeks. We’ll have the innkeeper send up your meals.”

“I don’t want–"

“Why not? You can do your writing from in bed just as easily as anywhere else.”

Chaucer scowled. “That’s not the point.”

Wat looked at him curiously. “What is then?”

Chaucer opened his mouth, stopped, shut it, opened it again, then sighed in exasperation. “Fine. But I’ll have you know I’m doing this under protest.”

Wat smirked. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Then, since it was nearing dinnertime, he went down to the common room to see about getting Chaucer some dinner.

~@~

Wat is really remarkably patient. He, Kate, Roland and Will take turns sitting with Geoff. Mostly, Geoff sleeps, and when he’s not sleeping, he’s writing. When he’s not writing, he’s whingeing about having to stay in bed. Wat doesn’t know how the others deal with it, but on the fourth day of sitting with him, he’s getting downright fed up.

“I don’t need people to sit with me all the time. It’s not as if I can _do_ anything to warrant looking after, since I’m going to be stuck in this bed for two more weeks,” Chaucer complains for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

“Ten days,” Wat says tiredly.

Geoff scowls. “That’s more than long enough. I’m sick of being cooped up here. And I don’t need a nursemaid…”

Wat’s finally had enough. “Fine, then. I certainly don’t need to listen to your constant complaining. I don’t know why I’m wasting my time looking after an ungrateful git like you.” And he gets up from the chair next to Geoff’s bed and stalks out of the room.

For the next week Wat only returns to the inn to have dinner, and to sleep at night. He avoids contact with Kate, Will and Roland, since they couldn’t be happy with him sticking them with caring for Geoff. He doesn’t know where he goes during the day, he just wanders around the village, fuming, trying to convince himself he isn’t concerned about Chaucer, with less and less success as the days wear on. He tries to tell himself that if anything had gone seriously wrong with Geoff, someone would have told him, trying to overlook the fact that he’s been very effectively avoiding everyone he knows.

Finally, after he’s managed to keep away from everyone for eight days, Christiana catches up with him in the village square. Wat eyes her suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you. I’ve been looking for you for days.”

Attempting to ignore the lurch in his stomach, Wat asks cautiously, “Why?”

“It’s Geoff. He’s been asking for you.”

“Oh, has he?” Wat asks angrily.

“Why did you disappear like that? Everyone’s been worried. Roland asked me to find you, and ask you to come back.”

Wat shrugs. “Got no reason to waste my time looking after idiotic writers who do nothing but whinge all the time.”

“He’s sick. He’s bored. You can’t blame him for being irritable.”

“Oh, can’t I?”

“Wat, come back. Please?”

Wat looks at her pleading expression, scowls, then, reluctantly, gives in. “Well, all right. But I’m not doing this for him, you understand?”

It’s obvious that Christiana sees through his lie, but she merely nods. They walk back to the inn together.

Wat walks up to Chaucer’s room and opens the door. He’s sitting up in bed, writing, alone for the moment. He looks up at the sound of the door opening, and his face lights up when he sees Wat.

“You’re back!” he exclaims.

“Aye,” Wat replies, trying not to look too pleased but privately thinking that it was worth it to have come up here just to see that expression on Geoff’s face.

“Where did you go?” Chaucer asks him, as Wat sits down in the vacant chair by the bed.

Wat shrugs. “Around.”

Chaucer looks momentarily uncomfortable. “I’m–I’m sorry for complaining so much, before. I’ve always been a horrible patient.”

Wat smiles despite himself. “I couldn’t tell.”

Chaucer smiles back, tentatively. “So, no hard feelings, then?”

Wat shakes his head, then asks a question that’s been bothering him since he came in. “Why were you by yourself?”

Chaucer has the grace to look guilty. “Well…Will was supposed to be looking after me…but I’m doing much better, and I don’t need someone with me all the time…so…so…” Geoff looks at Wat apprehensively, then finishes in a rush, “So I convinced him to go and see Jocelyn for a while.”

Wat doesn’t know who he’s more furious with, Will for abandoning Geoff, or Geoff for talking him into it. “You…” he starts.

Geoff cuts him off before he can get truly worked up. “Really, it’s all right. It was only for a few minutes, and I’m really doing much better.” Wat still feels like yelling, but Geoff adds, so quietly that Wat almost doesn’t hear him, “I missed you.”

“I don’t care how well you think you’re doing, that’s no reason for him to…what?”

“I missed you,” Geoff repeats, looking him in the eye.

Wat is horribly afraid he’s blushing for some reason; he opens his mouth, sputters for a moment, then finally says, “Can’t think why.”

Geoff looks surprised, opens his mouth to say something, seems to think the better of it, and finally says simply, “I’ve got used to having you around.”

The awkward silence that ensues is broken by Will attempting to sneak back into the room. He looks surprised, and thoroughly guilty, to see Wat there. Wat drags him bodily out of the room, shuts the door, drags him across the hall to his own room, shuts that door too, and proceeds to shout at him for ten minutes for being so irresponsible as to leave Geoff alone.

Will puts up with it for a while, then bursts out “You’re a fine one to lecture me on responsibility, when you stalked off a week ago, and haven’t been seen since. Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

That stops Wat in his tracks. “You’re right, Will. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that.”

Will looks slightly mollified, and heads for the door.

“Look…let me sit with him for a while, will you? You lot have had to cover for me long enough.”

Will nods, and Wat heads back into the room. Chaucer is sitting up, no longer writing, and looking vastly amused.

Wat glares at him. “What?”

Geoff grins. “I must say, Master Fowlhurst, my respect for your vocabulary has increased immeasurably. I don’t think half those thing you told Will he should do are physically possible.”

Wat blushes again, for no reason that he can fathom. “Aye, well, he told me off, too, for disappearing like that.”

Geoff merely nods, and picks up his writing again as Wat sits down.

~@~

Two days later, Geoff’s finally up and about again. Good thing, too, he doesn’t think he could stand being in bed any longer. Wat is still hanging around him, making sure “he doesn’t overexert himself.” While others might have found it annoying, Geoff is rather flattered by the attention.

It’s dangerous, though. Geoff finds he’s quickly become accustomed to having Wat there whenever he looks up from his writing, occasionally interrupting him to get him to eat, since, “It’ll be no good if you starve yourself before your ribs heal.” It’s dangerous, since as soon as he’s better, Geoff knows Wat will go back to treating him with his usual contemptuous indifference.

He had almost allowed himself to hope, when he first got hurt, that Wat didn’t regard him with scorn, when he thought about him at all. But after Wat disappeared he realised he was being foolish and kept a tight rein on his emotions ever since. Even now, though Wat’s still around all the time, he barely acknowledges Chaucer at all, unless he needs something, in which case he’s there before Geoff can even ask. Geoff tries not to come up with things he “needs” too often, lest Wat become suspicious and stomp off again.

He thinks back over his life before he met Wat. It was extremely unsettled, and yet at the same time extremely free. He wandered where he wanted, when he wanted, gathering stories and writing them down, seeing his wife only every few years, when he reported to King Edward, his patron. He’d stayed away from the palace since arriving in London, though he supposed he’d have to go back eventually.

He was lucky, he supposed, to have found a wife as understanding as Philippa. Not many women would be content to see their husband only once every few years, or let them wander wherever they wanted. There were very few women, he was sure, who would put up with Geoff’s having affairs, so long as they were discreet.

He was quite fond of Philippa, and she was fond of him, but they both tended to make other arrangements, as often as not. And Philippa didn’t even seem to mind him dallying occasionally with other men.

He’d only done so on a handful of occasions, rendezvous in smoky taverns, frantic groping or frenzied fucking in cheap accommodations, with men he’d never seen before and would never see again.

Wat was different. He’d noticed something about him the moment he’d met him, something special. He enjoyed baiting him, trying to get a rise out of him. It was several months before Geoff realised what his feelings for the redhead truly were.

When he had, he’d been shocked. He couldn’t afford this, couldn’t afford to be tied down. He enchanted all, but was owned by none, wrote freely of love, but never felt it. He couldn’t afford to fall in love. Especially not with someone as crude and violent as Wat Fowlhurst. But, naturally, once the feelings had taken hold, there was nothing he could do about them, and he had to be extremely careful not to let anything slip. Coming from peasant stock as he did, Wat was both extremely religious and extremely superstitious. He’d never even consider such a thing, and on the wild, inconceivable chance he did consider it, Chaucer would be the last one he’d think of.

It was second nature to him now to keep his feelings under wraps, and no one, least of all Wat, even suspected he might have an interest in men as bedfellows. He couldn’t afford to let it slip. He’d found a place with these people, he belonged with them; their concern when he got hurt was proof of that. It was far too precious for him to risk on something as transient and fleeting as physical pleasure.

As he’s thinking this, Geoff’s staring at Wat, without realising it. Wat bristles. “What are you looking at?”

Geoff comes back to himself with a start, and quickly improvises, “Oh, was I staring at you? I didn’t realize,” which is true enough, “I was trying to work out the meter of a particularly thorny poem I’m working on.”

Wat scoffs, “You and your poetry.”

Geoff is slightly hurt. “Just because you think it’s silly…”

“It’s not just silly, it’s pointless. Scribbling away all the time, rather than doing an honest day’s work…”

“Is that what you think of me?”

Wat seems to realise he’s gone too far, and tries to apologise, but Geoff, stricken, has run out of the room.

Geoff realises he’s fighting back tears as he runs. He’d thought he’d found a place with these people, and all this time they’d thought he was useless. He wonders why they bothered to take care of him when he was injured. It can’t be just Wat, the others must feel the same way…

Wat’s run out after him. He dodges him, makes his way quietly back to his room, gathers his belongings and skulks off to the stables, where the horse he’d bought with his share of Will’s winnings is kept. He probably shouldn’t be riding, but at this point he really doesn’t care.

He’s saddling the horse, when he hears a voice from the doorway say, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies without turning around.

“Leaving?” Wat repeats incredulously from the doorway. “Why the hell would you want to do a thing like that?”

“Because,” Geoff says, as he finishes tightening the saddle girths, “I’m not welcome here. I’m useless, I’m superfluous, and so I’m doing what I should have done long ago and moving on.”

“Useless?” Wat seems genuinely bewildered. “What d’you mean, ‘useless’?”

“Simple,” he answers him, now throwing his belongings into saddlebags. “Will doesn’t need me as his herald now the championship’s over; he can always find another next season. He’s got Jocelyn, Roland’s got Christiana, Kate’s got her forge, and you’ve got your inn. You were thinking of taking this place over when the tavern-keeper retires, weren’t you?” he shot at Wat over his shoulder.

“Well…yeah…but…look that doesn’t mean you have to leave!”

“Give me one good reason why I should stay here,” he says savagely, turning to face Wat at last.

The redhead fidgets, “Well, we’d miss you…I mean…Will and Roland and the others…”

“That’s not good enough,” Chaucer snaps.

“Oh…all right…fine! I’d miss you all right! There, you happy now?” Wat looks utterly furious with him, at having forced this confession out of him.

“No,” Chaucer states flatly. “You’re just saying that.”

Wat looks truly flustered now. “Wh-–You–I–No, I’m not!” he finally manages.

“Prove it.”

Wat approaches him diffidently. Chaucer eyes him warily, but doesn’t retreat. Wat hesitates a moment, then kisses him.

It’s the same kind of kiss he passed on to Will from Jocelyn, but it’s spontaneous, and more than Geoff ever expected to get from him. He simply stares at Wat, floored.

Wat gets defensive. “Well, don’t look at me like that! You asked me to prove it, and I’m no good with words, like you are, and this was too important to muck it up so,” he suddenly seems to run out of steam, “so I thought I’d show you.”

Chaucer doesn’t say anything, merely picks up his things, and leaves the stables. He goes back into the inn, Wat following him, worried by his uncharacteristic silence. He goes back into his room and dumps his things.

Wat follows him into the room, “What…” Geoff walks past him, closes the door, and cuts him off with a kiss.

It’s a real kiss this time, not just a peck, and Geoff is sure Wat will fong him worse than the Pardoner did when he’s done. But Wat had kissed him first, and if he’s going to leave anyway, he's going to damn well find out what it feels like to kiss Wat Fowlhurst first.

Wat stiffens against him, and his arms come up. Geoff’s sure he’s going to push him off, but is astonished when Wat’s hands instead fist inside his shirt and pull him closer. After a long moment they come up for air, both flushed and breathless.

Wat lets him go, and uncharacteristically, speaks first. “Are you going to tell me what the _bloody hell_ that was about?!”

Geoff hesitates, but Wat is looking at him furiously, so he slowly explains. He tells Wat everything, from the time he first met him, up through when he was injured, right until he tried to leave.

“So I reckoned, if I was leaving anyway, I might as well kiss you first and damn the consequences.”

Wat, astonishingly, laughs.

Geoff had expected rejection, even fury, but he wasn’t expecting Wat to laugh at him.

“You bloody idiot.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve been wanting me all this time and never said anything?”

“Well, of course not,” Geoff replies, slightly nettled. “You have enough excuses to fong me as it is.”

Wat’s actually looking relieved. “And here’s me thinking it was hopeless. ‘Course that’s after I got over thinking I was possessed for feeling something so unnatural, and that took a long time.”

Geoff looks at him, speechless. “I…but…you…you mean you…”

Wat laughs again. “Never thought I’d see you at a loss for words. Since you seem to be acting particularly stupid at the moment, I’ll spell it out for you. I feel the same way, you idiot.”

Geoff stands there, as the meaning of Wat’s words sinks in, and an expression of astonished joy spreads over his face. He throws his arms around Wat, who grunts, but doesn’t seem to mind. And then he’s kissing him again, all thoughts of his plans for leaving forgotten.


End file.
